Rise: A Tale From Rapture - Dawn of a New Day
by blackholebirthday
Summary: The appearance of a mysterious young boy after the fall of a city built as a testament to human aspiration and achievement calls into question both the past and the future for several survivors trying to escape.


Static was the only answer to a distress call that had been made every day for several weeks, a sound that emanated from a shortwave radio with an attached homemade receiver made from tin cans, and wires and glue. But it was an answer, a call, whether intended or coincidental, contact. There was a voice lost in translation, a man who spoke quietly and whose words they could not understand through the feedback. The eldest woman, wrapped in her dirtied fur coat as she finished one of the last bottles of wine by the window under the mezzanine, said that it was the voice of God.

The origin of the transmission could not be determined, or more importantly, if whether the man was within the city or beyond it. But time was a luxury few could any longer afford, and the precedence of making contact with the stranger built quickly and wore heavily on all. After thoughtful consideration, it was agreed among those who remained that several of the men venture out to seek higher ground and attempt there to establish a connection.

Five men volunteered to make the journey, despite tearful objection from wives or other family members. The youngest man was nineteen years old. He had worked delivering newspapers. The oldest was sixty-five, a former banker turned business magnate millionaire. They were provisioned with what they had; scarce ammo dispersed unevenly among modified weapons, and they carried a signal jammer to dissuade the city's defenses. They expected to return no later than the following day, but instructed the others not to search for them should they fail to fulfill their promise. They stood together for a moment before the catwalk of the theater they had called home since the first distress call had been made. One man began to speak: "Do we all understand the plan?" he asked. They looked at him but did not answer. He continued, eyes fixed on something in his mind, "After we pass through the Kashmir, we have to make our way downstairs and through the staging area past the elevators, and it's a straight shot; the station is just beyond there." He felt the golden wedding band on his ring finger with his thumb, "We do not engage those monsters with the girls. Never," he reminded the group once more, as he always had during similar excursions and raids. The men nodded in mutual understanding. He reached into his back pocket and revealed an oddly shaped key, and unlocked the door as a young woman approached from behind. She wore overalls over a formal white button-up shirt and rain boots on her feet, and joined the group of men, revolver by her side. "Audrey," he began. She kissed his lips. "I will not stay idly behind," a tremor in her voice, her eyes welling with tears, "without you." He gritted his teeth, but began to grow weak himself, and nodded, taking her hand for the moment, revealing a ring on her finger in the same style as his. "Ready your weapons. Stay absolutely quiet at all times." He let go of his young bride's hand, and together the group walked through the glass mosaic pocket door into the hall in silence. The rich color spectrum of the neon sign fixed into the concrete above them illuminated their faces in the dark, "The Footlight Theater". One man said a prayer under his quivering breath. In the distance, a sperm whale dodged past skyscrapers and called out, but received no response, and its song echoed throughout the hallway where they now stood.

They drew their weapons, and hurried on, the radio clutched tightly by the youngest man. The door to the Kashmir restaurant was steps away. It opened for them.

They walked onto the dance floor. Dust and dirt hung low in the air. New Year's decorations adorned every bloodied wall with balloons and streamers. The body of a man and a woman lay on the floor. One of the men slowly walked into the room, nearing the base of a large rotunda cased in glass built around a breathtaking statue of Atlas holding the world on his shoulders. "Dawson," whispered the girl. He turned away from it; the mammoth sized steel effigy that looked down him now, slowly falling under its own weight after having been damaged in the attack, sent a chill traveling down his spine. He returned to his wife. The group ascended the staircase to the upper floor and past dinner tables set with china and silverware and party hats. "Happy New Year 1959" brightly beamed another neon sign. They exited the restaurant and walked into the lobby.

They overlooked the receiving area of the building from the balcony. There wasn't a sound, but in the distance they heard an isolated cough, a man attempting to clear his raspy throat.

Dawson called for one of the elevators. They stood without speaking, and waited. A small crack in a skylight overhead had welcomed the cold ocean in, and water fell onto their heads, ever persistently.

A wailing scream pierced the stillness from above them. They scanned the room anxiously but in the darkness could not see where it had come from.

One of the men began to whimper, and he ran across the balcony and began to furiously call another elevator and quicken their descent, when he was struck in the head by a blade. He fell to the tile floor, cowering, before the others could stop a woman who was scaling the wall from pouncing to his side and tearing into his throat with a large hook she grasped firmly in her hand.

They opened fire. She wore a masquerade mask and a torn cocktail dress, and she stumbled back, bleeding, and let out a sigh before falling to the floor. The mask fell off of her face, revealing deep scars and an unsettling smile. A bell rang and signaled the arrival of the elevator. They crowded inside. "Ronald," sobbed Audrey. Dawson clenched her hand.

They rode the elevator to the ground floor of the staging area, and made their way down a narrow staircase, passing advertisements for various genetic tonics and for a newly released record by Sander Cohen called "Why Even Ask?" They passed through a large bulkhead door and into a receiving area with leather easy chairs that overlooked the city vista. Water had begun to cascade down a window into the room from a large crack in the plaster ceiling.

There was something revering about the flooding across the city that Dawson did not understand but felt quite captivated by. Weeks before, while searching for supplies, he had waded into an apartment that was filling with sea water bursting from a broken window. He discovered a record player, and some vinyls, and unable to leave or shake the feeling that possessed him, sat down comfortably on a sofa and smoked a cigar and played music while the room filled with water.

They passed through a tunnel composed of panels of glass that connected the building to the area beyond. Audrey stopped, and turned to admire the grandeur of the city behind them. A large neon sign advertising the Kashmir Restaurant was set into the bedrock, from which the building itself rose from, smooth concrete and windows that glowed with warm light that fought back the darkness from empty rooms. Taller buildings rose just beyond where she could see; the expanse of the city was stunning. It was magnificent, and had been the foundation of her dreams and fantasies since she had arrived many years before. She placed her hand on her collarbone as she had when she was younger to part her long brown hair, but her fingers only touched a diamond encrusted necklace she had received from her husband as a wedding present, if only for a moment forgetting that she had cut her hair long ago. Dawson gently reached for her hand. She was taken aback at first, having to return to the reality of their circumstances, but she immediately relented and the group continued to the bulkhead on the other side of the tunnel. It opened before them.

In the center of the room beyond, a little girl crouched over the body of a man and jabbed his skin with a large syringe, collecting his blood in a vile. Between her and the others stood her protector. He was suited in a modified diving suit and wore a large helmet which radiated soft yellow light, bathing the room with an eerie glow. On his left arm sat a motorized drill, which he raised threateningly to ward them away, letting out an exasperated moan that wasn't human. The little girl, wearing a dirty pink smock as she crouched on her knees, sang a song as she finished, and proceeded to drink the blood from the vile, chocking and coughing up onto the floor. "All done Mr. Bubbles!" she cried. The others stood in shock as the behemoth took her hand, and led her across the room to a large vent in the wall, which she happily climbed and disappeared inside. The monster let out another long moan before turning to leave.

"God damned daddies," One of the men began to say. "I used to have a little girl. Where is my little girl?" he started to cry. The group ran across the room to the doorway, careful to avoid crossing paths with the beast in the diving suit. They descended another staircase into total darkness.

"I can't see," one of the men whispered. "We shouldn't have come," answered another. "Quiet," said Dawson. "Steady your weapons. Be ready if we have to." He reached into his shoulder bag and pulled out a large torch. He held Audrey's hand. They crouched together and stayed in formation, with Dawson at the helm, arms extended to push away luggage and other debris, and light the way with the flashlight. "Watch your step," he whispered.

Something was knocked over, and a large _crash _echoed throughout the space, indicating the impressive size of the room. Audrey yelped. They moved on.

They navigated their way across the terminal, and in the faint light from the departure sign overhead, rounded the corner to the loading dock. The towering windows in the room were covered by iron shutters. Only a ray of faint, sickly light escaped an exposed portion of the window which the shutter had not extinguished.

The silence was broken by terrible static once more from the radio. "The surface," wept one of the men, "we're going to see the sun. We'll leave this place." "Hello?" called the man with the radio. "Hello? Can you hear me?" There was no answer.

The heel of Dawson's shoe scuffed something soft in the dark. He turned; he was stepping on a hand. He gasped, and stood. The others followed. They were surrounded by bodies.

Dawson turned; the bathysphere rocked gently in the water only feet away. Step lightly, and don't make a sound, he thought. He signaled to the others to follow his lead, and he held Audrey's hand as they slowly crept their way to the submarine.

All at once, several of the men and women on the floor rose from the floor, screaming and laughing, and began to attack.

"Fire!" yelled Dawson, but it was unclear who the enemy was in the darkness and confusion. "Stop them! Stop them!" someone shouted. Audrey screamed. Dawson felt something sharp pierce his back, and he turned and grasped a man's neck and began to beat his head with the butt of his gun. The room was floodlit by fire streaming from another man's hands, whose face was badly bandaged. He had killed the eldest man who had arrived with the group, who burned before falling to the floor. They ran to the bathysphere together amidst a hail of gunfire.

"Open it!" one of the men barked. "Hold!" shouted Dawson. He and the others fired into the crowd closing in on them. Audrey tore at the lock on the door to the submersible. A bullet struck the glass and ricocheted, only missing her head by inches. She immediately returned to the lock, and after a moment more of fumbling with it in the dark, pried the door open.

They gathered inside. Dawson pulled the lever back. The door to the bathysphere closed, and sank into the water.

He winced; blood coursed down his back. "Oh my God," Audrey cried, tending to his wound. "We're going to drown!" One of the men shrieked, noting a crack in the glass where the bullet had hit where Audrey had been. Dribbles of water leaked through. "It will hold," said another man. "No, we have to go back, we are in danger!" "No, we aren't," said the man, "I would know. I used to repair these things. That glass won't break unless we're hit directly with something far stronger." "Turn on the signal jammer," asked Dawson. One of them men nodded, and pulled out a strange device with antennae from his bag, powered it on. "This should keep us safe from Ryan's missiles," he said. The bathysphere finished its descent, and was thrust out into the open ocean, passing the city en route towards the surface, guided by a headlamp.

A spotlight was cast into the darkness from somewhere below them. It caught the submarine and followed its course forward. "What is that?" one of the men cried. "We've been spotted! We're going to be killed!" Dawson peered out through the glass and took a deep breath.

"No," Audrey consoled him, "no, I don't think its Ryan." The spotlight flailed wildly in the dark after losing sight of the bathysphere and disappeared. "It was someone else."

After a moment, the man spoke again, "We can't return to the city. We must go to the surface and wait for rescue, call for help with the radio. We must leave- "stop it," Dawson interrupted. "You don't understand, we have dear friends who are in hiding, family. We cannot leave them behind." No one spoke. "You're a coward," said Dawson. The man slouched to his seat.

The rest of the journey was traveled in silence. Audrey continued to nurse Dawson's wound, as the submersible began to pick up speed. "We've arrived," said one of the men.

The bathysphere breached the surface into total darkness. The door opened automatically. "Oh no," whispered Audrey. "Where have we gone?"

"The surface," answered Dawson. He slowly emerged, stepping over the threshold, turning his flashlight on once again. "Ready the radio," he turned to the group behind him.

He turned and stopped before he took another step forward, motionless.

"Dawson?" called Audrey.

Dawson had shone his light on a child who lay on the stone floor directly ahead of him, fast asleep; a little boy no older than six, with blond hair and a blue bowtie, wearing formal pants and a pressed white shirt. He was missing a shoe. His skin was pale and fair. He breathed heavily; the room was cold, and Dawson could see the boy's breath. His clothes sparkled in the dim light with party confetti.

"Dawson?" called Audrey once more.

He stared at the child. Looking away, he shone the torch around the circular room. The boy was alone. He stepped out of the bathysphere towards him.

He crept to the boy's side, and touched his forehead, feeling his temperature. He was cold to the touch. He gently shook his shoulder. Overhead, recessed lighting burst on, bathing the room in golden light. A rendition of Django Reinhardt's "Beyond the Sea" began to play over the PA system.

The boy clenched his eyes closed tight, and slowed his breathing. He opened his eyes.

Audrey followed Dawson out of the bathysphere and peered over his shoulder. She gasped. The boy screamed. He sat up and backed away.

"Wait, no, no," asked Dawson. "We won't hurt you..." The boy stopped. "We want to help you." The boy began to cough violently. "Do we have any fresh water? A blanket?" asked Dawson. "Take my coat," said the man who used to repair bathyspheres. "Thank-you very much, Jacob," said Dawson, and he reached out for the boy. He neared closer, and draped him in the coat. The boy didn't move. "It's okay, you're safe," whispered Dawson, and he patted his head and began to comfort him.

The man with the radio raced up the staircase. "Is the signal jammer off?" he yelled back. "Yes," answered Audrey. She knelt down with Dawson and the boy.

"I'm not reading the transmission," the man called down. He rushed towards the door. "The door is jammed, someone please help me open it." Dawson looked into the bathysphere; the coward hadn't moved, a tired, blank expressionless face. He felt remorse for snapping at him. He stood to approached him.

"Could I please get some help?" the man with the radio asked again. Jacob had been lost in thought. His gaze had been fixed on the boy. He turned away, "coming."

"Nathan," said Dawson, quietly. There was no answer. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier." The man did not respond. Dawson looked down at his shoes. "This is a very difficult time for all of us. I was wrong. You aren't a coward; you are a very brave man." "No, I am not a coward, I am dead," answered Nathan, looking into Dawson's eyes. "I am dead inside. The things I've done to survive. The things I did before. I am not a good man. I deserve to die," he began to sob. "Nathan," Dawson interjected, "we have to work together. That means all of us, including everyone in this room, and everyone below us still in the city. This is what we misunderstood before; this is why everything has happened. We were all so selfish. But we have a chance, to start anew, to save each other and ourselves, to leave this place. Look what we have become? Monsters." He knelt in front of Nathan and placed his hand on his shoulder, eyes wide and full of sadness, "We're all monsters." He took a quick breath, "But we can't let that define us now. We must work together and become our own salvation." Nathan nodded.

Dawson stood up. After a moment he returned to Audrey and the boy.

"What is your name?" asked Audrey. She parted the boy's hair. He continued to cough. "He needs a doctor immediately. He's severely dehydrated." "This door will not budge, and I'm still not finding a signal. Can anyone please help?" the man with the radio called down again. Dawson looked at his wife. He sighed, and ran up the staircase to join the other men.

Suspended in the center of the room beyond the balcony was a large, cast iron bust of a man whose glare was overbearing and unfeeling. "Son-of-a-bitch, the thing's broken," said Jacob, acknowledging the radio. "It worked fine ten minutes ago," said Dawson. "Suresh, can you try another channel?" "I already have," he said, as he maddeningly worked his fingers across the device. "I'm not reading anything." "The signal came from within the city," said Jacob. "No, it couldn't be, because we would have read it clearly," answered Dawson. "It was a powerful transmission, the feedback was so strong; why would anyone," he paused, "how could anyone transmit a signal that powerfully inside Rapture? We would have read it if it came from inside the city." "Maybe it wasn't made for us to hear," said Suresh. "If it is as powerful as you say, the signal might have been broadcasted to attract someone miles away to our location. Maybe help is coming." "Or maybe more trouble," said Jacob. "Let's try to open the door; we might have a better chance of reading a broadcast if we aren't inside. Maybe the lighthouse is interfering." He put the radio safely on the floor, in front of a plaque dedicated to Andrew Ryan, reading "In what country is there a place for people like me?" Dawson peered up at the statue above. Where earlier during his encounter with Atlas he had felt sorrow, now he felt disdain, and indignity. He turned away to help the others open the door.

"Hold the knob like that, and I'll push; Dawson, help me," asked Suresh. The three men began to heave. "I think that it's working, don't stop!" cried Jacob. They pushed harder.

The door began to give. But as it did, it was ripped from their hands and torn away from them. Dawson stumbled outside onto the steps below, and into the gale force winds and freezing rain that poured down from the sky.

He squinted and peered out into the black storm clouds of the horizon; thunder erupted from above and lighting cut across the distance. He was so afraid. There was nothing but the dark ocean and the black sky.

A hand closed around his, and pulled him back into the lighthouse. Together, with the strength of two men, Jacob and Suresh closed the door. It latched on its own. Dawson fell to the floor. Cradling the boy in her arms, Audrey knelt by Dawson's side. Before them all, and the iron cast of the man whose dream this had become, he wept.

Several moments later, a voice was heard over the radio. "Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?" Suresh weakly answered the call, "Yes, hello, we read you. Over." "You the one in the bathysphere?" the voice asked nervously; an older man. Suresh paused, and looked at the others. Jacob nodded. "Yes, that was my friends and I. We traveled to the lighthouse to try to make contact with someone outside of the city, but we've been cut off by a storm." There was silence.

"Come to Medical," said the man. "There are men and women trapped in the medical pavilion. Please help us." The man began to sob uncontrollably. "Please help us. You don't understand," he began. "Are you in danger?" asked Suresh. There was no answer. "Hello? Do you read me? Are you in danger? Over."


End file.
